Chapter 27
Cash
One week later . . .
The whispers are driving me fucking nuts. “I can hear you. If you want to know something, just ask me.”
Marina holds up two tea packets in a bout of challenge. “Does your mother want peppermint with no caffeine or super green to drink?”
I look at my mom sitting at the bar in front of her. “Got it. Not everything is about me.” I walk to the terrace, hiding the pain that scorches my side with every step I take.
My mom says, “He’s always been a bear of a patient.”
I close the door to block out the noise. Ironic since I’m in the middle of the city. It’s quieter from the chatter, the how are you doing, the looks of pity, and the constant negotiations of whether I’ll get to drive next weekend.
“She flew in on the red-eye to be here,” my mom starts, coming outside. She closes the door behind her, then moves to the railing with her attention forward. “Marina leaves tomorrow on a late flight just so she can have as much time with you as she can.”
“I appreciate it.”
When she directs her gaze to me, worry wrinkles her brow. “You haven’t said more than twenty words since she arrived, though. What’s going on, Cash?”
Do I tell her?
Do I tell her that the injuries are worse than they know? That the nerve damage alone can keep me from what I spent my whole life training for? No. She’s my mom. She doesn’t care about my career or a stupid legacy. She only cares about me.
I don’t.
I need to do better than my father. I need to leave something of value to take care of my son. I’ll give Cullen the only thing I can and what I never had from a father figure. Security.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“I’m not forcing you to do something you don’t want. If you’ve changed your mind about dating her—”
“Stop, Mom.” Dropping my head, I let it hang and close my eyes.
When I look up, she’s not fazed. I’m a moody fucking bastard.
She’s probably used to it. That still doesn’t make my behavior okay.
I sit back on the lounger and turn my gaze to the sky.
Choosing a more palatable tone to alleviate any signs of an argument that I don’t want to have right now, I say, “I’ll talk to her. ”
She glances toward the glass door. “My tea is ready. Do you need anything?”
“No.”
After the door slides closed, I think about Marina and her constant effort. But I see it in her eyes, that question suspended in her pupils and the distance her light blues travel to delve into my green waters. If I let her stare too long, she’ll see through me and know something is wrong.
That’s the problem, right? Scrubbing my hands over my face, I release a heavy breath of stress, though it returns to my chest just as fast as it left.
Like her brother’s enjoyed reminding me, she’s an owner of the team. One word . . . one slip of concern from her to any of them, and my career could be over.
So is this the choice?
My son and the security I could give him for the rest of his life or my soulmate?
Fuck. I shake my head to get out of the tailspin. I don’t need to invent scenarios that aren’t in play. I don’t need to premeditate a response. I’m fine. We’ll all be fine. I’ll be back in my seat on the grid next Saturday.
“Do you want to be alone?” I look up to find Marina standing with her back pressed to the door as if she’s scared to be left alone with me.
I’m a fucker for causing her distress. She says, “I know you have a lot on your mind.” She angles to leave without giving me a chance to convince her otherwise.
“Stay.” My heart’s reaction.
She turns back to ask, “Are you sure?”
Am I sure?
Fuck. I’ve done that to her. I’ve made her small in this big world like her ex did. My pain is one thing, but I hate myself for causing her any. “I want you to stay, babe. Come sit by me.”
Marina’s hair is knotted in an elastic on her head, her face free from makeup, and dark circles induced by restless nights, which I’m sure I’ve caused her. A familiar T-shirt that I’ve been missing is draped over her small shoulders with her jeans.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
I don’t deserve her beauty or her heart. I’ll steal her soul, though, because there’s no existing for me without it anymore.
Coming to sit on the inside of the other lounge chair, she keeps her feet on the ground. “What can I get you? Are you hungry or need water?”
“I don’t need you to dote on me. I have my mother already doing too much.”
Her sympathetic smile isn’t reassuring. “We’re just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can do it myself. I’ve done it my entire fucking life.”
Getting up again, she moves to the table and stands on the other side. “Why are you yelling at me, Cash?”
“I’m not yelling.”
She touches her fingertips to her chest, slightly leaning forward. “Okay, why are you raising your voice at me?”
“I’m tired, Marina. I’m tired of sitting here ‘healing,’” I say, tossing air quotes in there for some stupid reason. “I’m tired of doctor’s orders to rest and get some sleep. I’m tired of being treated like a—”
“Patient?” She straightens her back. “You are. You’re healing, which is necessary for a full recovery.
” When she yanks her gaze away, I can see frustration ripple through her body language.
Her arms cross over her chest when she finally sets her sights on something in the distance.
“It’s like you’re being difficult just to be difficult.
” A hard glare lands on me. “What’s so hard about recovering when everything in your life is taken care of? ”
An idea dawns in her eyes before I can explain. She asks, “Is this about racing?” Returning to the end of my lounger, she sits and rests her hand on my leg. “It’s only a few races, Cash.”
“Only?” The word sets me off, her hand jerking back in reaction.
“A few races means I’m replaced, Marina.
I get that you don’t know shit about Principle One Racing and were given ownership as a fucking present for your twenty-fifth birthday, but this is my fucking life.
If some eighteen-year-old fills my seat on the track and gets on that damn podium, my career is dead.
” I try to weather the storm inside me and temper my anger, but my hands shake and my side is fucking killing me, so I fail. “Get it now?”
She stands, her expression void of any emotion other than a fire burning in her eyes. I know it well, and I'm reminded of the first time we met. “I get it.”
As if she’s the judge and jury, I plead my case. “Why can’t you understand I should have never had this chance? And I’m blowing it.”
“You’re injured. That’s not the same thing.”
Bolting to my feet, I reach my boiling point. “It is to me. Fuck this.” I push the chair out of the way and walk a wide berth, leaving her standing there. I grab the door and slide it open.
“You’re willing to kill yourself for a trophy,” she says to my back, “and expect everybody to sit by and be okay with it. I’m not okay with that.
I’m not okay that for thirty minutes, I sat in a room with your five-year-old son, isolating him from something horrific.
That for thirty minutes, I had to hold myself together for him because I thought you were dead.
” I turn back to see tears streaming down her face. “So no, I’m not okay with it.”
“That’s too bad, sweetheart.” I stand there in my contempt for the circumstances that have nothing to do with her. I boldly cross my arms over my chest as she stares at me like a stranger. I even move out of the way when she comes toward me.
Only a few inches away, she stops briefly to look me in the eyes. “You’re right, babe. That is too bad. Heartbreaking actually.” Marina enters the living room.
I watch as she grabs her purse from the counter, her phone from the coffee table, and drags the suitcase that never made it to the bedroom toward the door.
My heart starts thumping in my chest, but my pride is too wounded to say the right thing. “So that’s it? The fun’s over, so you walk away?” I move inside behind her. “You give me an ultimatum to make yourself feel better? It’s all or nothing with you?”
I see her shoulders rise and then fall slowly back into place.
She looks back at me with the fire extinguished, and says, “I never gave you an ultimatum, Cash. That’s all in your head, but if it makes you feel better and helps you sleep at night, you can blame me.
And then when I’m just a memory, you’ll convince yourself that you did the right thing.
” She grabs the doorknob and pulls the door open.
“To help that along, I choose nothing over the all I’m being given. ”
I stand a good ten minutes in my righteous indignation, thinking there’s a chance she’ll walk back into my life.
She doesn’t, though.
When I finally turn around, I don’t need the disappointment I see in my mom’s eyes to know that I fucked up. I feel the absence of my soul reminding me of what I’ve done.
I should have never let Marina go.